Advanced Warning
by WritePassion
Summary: Michael wakes up in a sleazy hotel in Miami after a particularly nasty, disorienting dream that shakes him down to his core. Will he let it influence his future, or go on and ignore the warning? SPOILER WARNING for episode 7.13.


_Burn Notice: I don't own it, I just like to play with it._

_This came about after a Twitter conversation about how some series end on an "it was all a dream" note. I hate those endings. They cheapen the whole experience of the entire show and are a disrespect for the viewers. So I took that idea, the very thing I hate, and gave it a twist. Enjoy!_

_SPOILER WARNING FOR 7.13_

**Advanced Warning**

By WritePassion

Seven long years had come to this. When Michael Westen first arrived in Miami as a burned spy, fallen from grace from the CIA, all he could think about was redeeming himself and getting back 'in'. He tried and failed time after time. Just when he thought he could see the prize on the horizon, another bad guy stepped in the way and forced Michael to fight harder to obtain his dream. His dream became an obsession, and he paid the price by losing Fiona, the woman he loved. Without remorse, at first, he burned Jesse. His brother Nate died because he wanted to make Michael proud and got himself into something he shouldn't have. He put everyone in danger, and his best friend Sam was almost killed. Like a human tornado, he ripped to shreds everyone's lives and broke his mother's heart.

As if that wasn't enough, he made the mistake of choosing the wrong side. He caused a rift that pitted him against his friends and his country, all under the belief that he would be the one in power, the one calling the shots, and everything would be right. Only now, in the fog, did he realize that he had become the monster he fought so hard against. He was wrong and he was broken.

Michael's back hurt, and he remembered how hard he landed on the car trunk after Sam flipped him. He didn't think the old, ex-Navy SEAL still had it. When their struggle continued underwater, Sam almost had Michael, but he gave up too quickly and released Michael while he still could fight back. He felt bad about smashing Sam in the face, but at that point, he wasn't thinking about anything other than getting away.

Sam was right, he was barreling down the wrong path, but he found an opportunity to make things right. Lucky for him Sam was quick to forgive and agreed to work with him, and Jesse and Fiona came on board. Together they would take down James.

It was a great plan, except for the surprise attack. The last thing Michael remembered was the shotgun going off about six feet away, its projectile coming straight at his body. Unlike the bean bag rounds he and his team had been inclined to use from time to time, these guns were loaded with a lethal payload. It felt like someone was jabbing through his flesh and bone with a sharpened spoon, digging out his life. Indeed, he knew he was dead before he even hit the floor, the blast of gunfire ringing in his ears with Sam's agonized cry.

"Mike!"

"Michael!" Fiona screamed. He shouldn't have heard that, but he did.

Michael opened his eyes and saw nothing but a white mist surrounding him, the light blinding, but it didn't bother him. It was warm, inviting, and he felt at home.

"Michael, wake up. Wake up!"

"No, Fi, I'm not asleep. I'm not dead, either, just in a different neighborhood." He snickered at the thought. All his worries were gone, and the idea of him ever wanting his spy job back seemed ludicrous. He thought of Sam and his uncanny ability to enjoy life. It was Michael's turn, and wherever he was, he was going to take the time to relax. The idea was so foreign to his psyche. Yet when he thought about what the past seven years had brought him, he decided he was beyond exhausted. He'd had enough and needed some major rest.

The surface beneath him shook and Michael looked around, up, down, side to side. It wasn't ground, the place on which he lay. Everything was white and felt like woven cotton under his fingers. He buried his nose in the fabric and almost gagged as he realized the sheet smelled like stale smoke, sweat, and other bodily fluids he'd rather not think about.

_What the... where am I?_

As if in answer, the surface shifted again and he realized he was on a mattress. A piece of him sank at the thought. He wasn't in heaven, or wherever they put you when you're not really dead. Something hit him full force in the backside, right on a bruise on his buttocks. Michael sucked in a breath and rolled away as he opened his eyes, groaned at the ache all over his body, and looked over his shoulder at his attacker.

Fiona Glenanne sat in the uncomfortable looking chair, her feet propped up on the edge of the mattress, knees bent in the air, and a snarky, put-out look on her face. She held his driver's license threaded it through her fingers, over and under.

"It's about time you woke up."

"Wh-where am I?" He sounded like he'd been asleep for days.

"Miami." To hear Fiona tell it, he was in dire straights for awhile, and she filled in some of the blanks on how he arrived there. The housekeeper thought he was going to die, so she looked through his wallet, found Fiona's number, and called her. "You know you're supposed to take your old girlfriend's number out of your wallet when you break up."

"I... I needed somebody." He tried a smile. "Besides, you're here. You came despite everything." He let out a long, deep sigh and ran a hand through his sweat-matted hair as he rotated and gingerly sat on the edge of the mattress. "After the past seven years..."

"Seven? It hasn't been that long since you and I last saw each other in Ireland."

Michael's head flew up, his wide eyes gazing at her. He immediately regretted the action. One hand clamped onto the back of his neck and he winced.

"Looks like someone did a really good job kickin' your ass," Fiona said with a smile that was half pleasure and half pain.

"The Nigerians... oh yeah, right." Michael remembered what brought him to this state, yet it seemed as if it had truly been seven years or more. With slow, careful movements, he shook his head. "Fi, I had the weirdest dream."

He told her in detail everything that he'd experienced. At first, she must have thought he took a good blow to the head, and then she didn't know what to think. She listened though, and let him get it all out, even as the narration turned darker. She always wondered what went through a spy's mind when he slept. If this was a true picture, she didn't want any part of it. Why Fiona came down to Miami, she wasn't sure if it was out of curiosity or a bit of sweet revenge to watch him die. Now she was beginning to regret it. Michael ended with the account of his death, fell silent, and his upper body sagged over his knees, held up by trembling elbows.

Fiona fought tears. She didn't want to feel for him, but seeing him in such distress, she couldn't help herself. He was like a lost, injured puppy at the moment, and she was the only one who could help him. She slipped out of her chair and sat beside him on the bed, curled an arm around his back, and her free hand stroked his head. He was dirty and sticky, and he smelled of exotic spices and rancid fish, mixed with sweat and blood, but she would hold him if that was what he needed.

God help her. Fiona loved him. She always had and always would, no matter that in Michael's story she abandoned him. His face when he told her showed such horror, as if someone was trying to rip out his soul along with his heart. She stifled a cry.

"Fi, are you okay," Michael asked as he straightened, mindful of his sore ribs.

"Don't worry about me, Michael. Let's take care of you first."

* * *

After a shower and Fiona's ministrations of his wounds, Michael felt a little more like himself. Fiona ran out to get some food and a change of clothes for him while Michael dozed. At one point he stepped to the blinds and parted them to look outside. A Fed car was parked not too far away. He wasn't sure what they were doing there, but he was pretty sure they weren't checking out the beach. He was under watch. Why? Who would be watching him?

He closed his eyes and remembered his dream. The same two guys in the same ugly car. He'd outwitted them once, but then began the snowball down the hill turning into an avalanche metaphor. Whether he actually lived all of it or was simply given a gift of prophecy, what mattered was that Michael had a choice. He could ignore what he'd seen and done in his dream and try to do it differently, or he could give up and walk away from everything he knew. He would have to become a civilian. The idea scared him half to death, because he didn't know the first thing about living that life.

A quick double knock announced that Fiona was back. He checked the fit of his towel circling his waist as the door opened and she poked her head around it. She smiled, and her eyes sparkled when she saw him with the light forming a halo around his nearly naked body.

"You're lookin' better, Michael." She entered and locked the door behind her. "I brought us some breakfast, and I found you some clothes. It's not Armani, but it'll have to do." She tossed a plastic bag onto the bed and placed a couple of styrofoam containers on the small table with a carrier that held two coffees. She met him in the small space and ran her hands up his chest with an appreciative smile on her face. "Aye, you're looking mighty fine."

"Ohh, Fi, I would really love to, but..."

She sighed, flipped her head so her hair flew over her shoulder, and turned to the table. "Of course, you're hungry. How silly of me."

"Fi." A twinge of regret twisted in the pit of Michael's stomach and he reached out for her shoulders. His hands cupped them so well, reminding him how good they were together. Even if they fought more than they agreed on things.

Fiona stopped and leaned into him. A wave of pleasure rolled over him and he wrapped his arms around her. His nose pushed her hair away and his lips taunted her neck. Breakfast was getting cold, but he was hungry for something else he'd denied himself for too long. Love. He wouldn't take Fiona for granted anymore or ignore the bond they shared. When she wanted his love and attention he would give it, even if that meant becoming a "normal" person with a 9-to-5 job in an ordinary world. He saw what his foolishness would cost him if he kept going the way he had. Michael wasn't stupid. He'd been given a gift, a chance to relive his life, and he would take it.

* * *

"Well, isn't this a surprise," Sam Axe said with a chuckle. "Michael Westen has come home. Never thought I'd see that, much less hear you were burned."

Michael sat in the chair kitty corner to Sam, noting how his best friend seemed to be enjoying his retirement a little too well, drinking beer and trawling for women when he wasn't working a case for Lucy. He couldn't even comprehend how Sam lived such a life that contrasted all the excitement and action of those days they worked together.

"I'd rather not talk about that, Sam. What's this job Lucy has you doing?"

"It's nothing big. I figure you can probably handle it in no time, unless you want me to go along and hold your hand," Sam replied with a sneer. "You know spies, a bunch of..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Michael said and held up a hand to stop him.

Sam sat with his mouth agape. He wasn't sure how Mike knew what he was going to say. One thing was certain, he left Sam speechless. This guy sitting in front of him wasn't the self-assured, almost cocky, Michael Westen he worked with in the past. From the casual khakis and light blue polo shirt to the way he sat looking around without suspicion under his sunglasses, he was like a changed man.

"What happened, Mike," Sam asked with concern in his voice. He sat with his forearms resting on the table and stared at his friend. "There's something different about you, and I can't put my finger on it."

Michael let out an annoyed breath and stared at the sky. "I really don't want to go into it again. I already told Fi what happened and she thought I was crazy."

"Fi... Fiona Glenanne? You're still hanging around with that crazy Irish..."

"Sam. Never mind." Michael went on the defensive and closed up for a few moments. "Long story short, I had a revelation. I'm not going to fight my burn notice. I wanted to, but... I had this vision that showed me what a bad idea that was." He resumed scanning the crowds and he saw his tail nearby, but he didn't care. He actually smiled and waved at them. That shook them up.

"So what are you going to do, then," Sam asked. He was puzzled.

"I'll start with that job and see how things go." Michael grinned. "And maybe I'll even go visit my Mom."

"Woah, don't try to bite off more than you can chew all at once," Sam joked.

Michael laughed, and despite the pain in his ribs, it felt good. "I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but it's good to be home." He sighed and took a swig of the beer Sam ordered for him. "I feel like I've been given a new life, and I know the consequences of not taking it."

"Ah, you understand the joys of retirement," Sam said with a soft chuckle, and he finished one beer, set down the bottle, and picked up a full one that sweated in the hot Miami afternoon. "Just so you know, I've got all the rich divorcees eating out of my hand here, so you'll have to go fishing elsewhere."

Michael threw Sam a wide, sly smile. "Don't worry, the women of Miami are safe with you. No, I'm thinking of seeing Fiona on a regular basis. She helped me, even after how I treated her in Ireland, and it's time I right that wrong."

"Oh come on, Mike. Really? You want to share a bed with her, when you could have your pick of the hot Miami women?" He studied Michael and noted the seriousness of his expression. Shrugging and pulling away from the table to recline in his chair and nurse his beer, Sam said, "Okay, Mikey, it's your life."

"Yes, it is. I saw what the future held for me, and it wasn't pretty. Just more darkness, more and more of it." He slipped into a mesmerized silence.

"Well, hey, if you need any help on this gig, you let me know." The sun had worked its way around into Sam's eyes, so he squinted. "Seriously, we worked pretty good together back in the day. I wouldn't mind teaming up with you again."

Micheal looked up from the beer label he'd been staring down, and he smiled at his friend. "I'd like that too."

"Well, alrighty then." A pretty woman caught his eye, and he gave her a wink and a smile as she passed. The woman's eyebrow went up and she smiled at him before going on her way. Sam stood. "Hey, I've gotta go. Call me, okay? You've got my number."

"I will. As soon as I get a phone, I'll call you."

Sam slapped a fifty on the table and set his half drunk beer on top of it, and he sauntered after the woman who enjoyed his flirting. Michael watched Sam catch up to her, slip an arm around her waist, and kiss her. She willingly responded in kind. Either Sam worked fast, or she was his latest sugar momma. Michael sighed and worked on his beer. That's one road he didn't have to travel, and he felt a sense of relief because Fiona was loyal and always would be as long as he didn't screw things up by letting obsessions get the best of him.

He glanced at his watch. Javier would still be at his job at the mansion that had been burglarized. He better get a move on if he intended to get anything accomplished. For a moment he considered asking his tail for a ride, just to mess with them, but instead, he hopped on a bus that would get him close enough to walk. Today was a new beginning, and he would apply himself with the same energy he expelled as a spy. He was diving into a world he didn't know, head first, and only time would tell if he made the right choice. He would rather be awake and alive than dead, and if this was the way to do it, he would adapt.


End file.
